Tag Archives: Poem

the velveteen


what are the questions

are they also the answers

i am so very shabby/

in jeopardy

of dematerialization


final jeopardy!


poem for poet: Nayyirah Waheed, Salt

[ The Lethal Salinity of The Truth ]

Her words are not for me
not about me
Her words are not for me
not about me
Repeat

am i allowed
To float Her words aloud
To sink them in my mind
To lap them from the page

i accidentally swallow,
then gulp down Her Salt words/
like when the surf breaks
and surprises an exhilarated, Great Lakes girl
with a mouthful of seawater
during her first swim in the Ocean

Her words were not meant for me
Her words were not meant for me
Repeat

but

they quenched then drowned me anyway

Continue reading

Her Light, her light

it’s mid evening
east of The Lake
and the night is dawning
like a second morning

the Full Moon’s light
in a clearer sky
gleams through the generous panes
of this blessed, old green house

Moon’s rise / Her Light

February’s Snow Moon is glowing
in a familiar dance with her beloved Earth/
Sun, their invisible chaperone, is voyeur to their touchless, perfect tango

a family of four deer
mother and children, i think/
are gleaners here tonight
while i consume their Moon play

silent and sitting in the dark, i admire:
coat, tallow, hooves and hot, flow of blood
is all that’s between them
and this howling wind and frozen ground

let me mimic their resilience, integrity
i’ve been so weak, so broken this winter
a fractioned shadow, i am disintegrating, disappearing / my light given or grifted away

Continue reading

Wolf Lake


“This used to be my playground”
and our proxy for church on spring, summer and fall sabbaths


These were the halcyon days.


Load up the International Harvester TravelAll with wooden doors and quarter panels – it has two gas tanks, you know
Bought it used, but pristine
on payments – from the showroom on Logan Boulevard and Elston Avenue with zero credit history and all the usury


Have mercy.


Follow me, and I will make you fishers of fish


He will bait your hook on the bamboo pole he bought you
Later, you will insist on the “Pocket Fisherman” – as seen on TV

Continue reading

the bearable light of being

we adapt, mitigate

beholding devastation

in a moment of transcendent light

we’ll call it beauty

i am no exception

golden hour light on a butchered monoculture landscape

thaw

i add my most intentional breaths to the land, to the atmosphere,
for the birch saplings, for a man i knew,
bent over
frozen
in a forced deference
mimicking reverence
won’t, can’t hold
[it never does]

Continue reading

human calculus

there is no math

more racking and wrenching than

human calculus

to find oneself

not as integer or integral

as both function and derivative

yet not a real variable

as undifferentiated

only momentarily tangential

eternally infinitesimal


telemarketer

she answers every unknown call
thinking it might be him
on a burner phone

calling to say
calling to tell
calling to ask
calling to weep
calling to laugh
calling to breathe

you
yes
wait
soon
now
everything
anything


‘this’

we were not that singular, after all
in spite of all evidence and words
to the contrary

we began and ended

like everyone, everything, anything else

sure.

but

this, i know

we never grew boring
we never stopped loving
we never stopped wanting

then

still

you vanished

so

what does this all mean now

what does anything mean now

what can anything mean now

what is the meaning of meaning now

this, i don’t know


Eyes Wide Shut

diving galaxies behind, beyond my eyelids

into crevasse of mind

deep heart of universe

collapsing, revealing

origin

of black expanse

of eternal presence

sublime of aeons

reciprocal gaze

know me

who Am i


explanation

she was never really glad to be here

here, as in, born

not really, no

still,

she paced herself
bided, abided the days which turned into decades
in the city

she moved out of the city

she moved out to the country

she paced her herself
bided, abided the days which turned into months and years
in the country

one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/

one more/

until she could not
one more
anymore


intruder

let them know she was killed
in a struggle with an intruder in a house
then let them know she was the intruder
then let them know she was the house


undo

i sometimes wake myself speaking to you aloud from my dreams

the Lake carries my voice
in one direction, west, at night;
if i’m being truthful,
in sunlight too

do you hear me in your sleep,
or when awake, in your perfect nest, your perfect, structural roost

no rest then, no rest now,
be or do,
do won out

i found /no, fought/ for my contentment
then lost /no, loved/ it away;
if i am being truthful,
it was too easy

i want to get back to when the tolerance of crows was all that mattered to me; when meadow and sky were enough to hold my singular, regent attention

and forget /no, ignore/ the attentions of men who unbecome and rebecome strangers


Poemo (prototypes) :



The secret ambition of all lyric poetry is to stop time. — Charles Simic


Poemo rhymes with memo.

transubstantiation

in my winter cocoon
enveloped in sheets and blankets
my eyes closed all day

these damned windows,
seams of daylight break
through fiber,
try and force their way through slits and lashes,
i resist
pink lids, i won’t study and map
your capillary streams / birds, please don’t sing / i refuse to perceive anything but my own inlands

i don’t feed
i don’t drink
i don’t think
i don’t move
i don’t feel

i only let

let
let
let

i am not dying though
i am working from the inside
autonomic, appearing halcyon
while transforming
all memoir of you – from idealization into unbiased slurry, and,
into something, new
into something, else
of me